


Containment Breach!

by TypingMonkey (purty64)



Series: The Spiralling Shape Will Make You Go Insane (with frustration) [2]
Category: SCP Foundation, The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, anyway I ran with that, spiral fuckery, that if TMA and the SCP foundation were in the same universe, they would NOT be friends, uhhhhhhh someone mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:46:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23121958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purty64/pseuds/TypingMonkey
Summary: the SCP Foundation finds out about the Archives and immediatelykidnapscontainseveryone involved.The Spiralling Shape, turns out, is not a fan!Shenanigans ensue
Series: The Spiralling Shape Will Make You Go Insane (with frustration) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659769
Comments: 3
Kudos: 60





	Containment Breach!

**Author's Note:**

> wrow my longest work to date, are you proud of me.  
> also if you know anything about the SCP Foundation please don't yell at me, the wiki is a mystery to me ~~I just like the pretty shapes; scp 113 is my favorite~~

There was a tap on his shoulder. When he turned around, there was… someone, standing behind him, smiling.

“Can I… help you?”

“Possibly!”

“Um…” _it’s funny,_ he thought. _I didn’t think civilians were allowed into these facilities._ “What do you need?”

“Where is the Jarchavist?”

He blinked. “The… what?”

“The Jarchavist!”

“I, I’m not sure-”

“What about Tim Stoker? Where is he?”

He started to take a step back from… _them_ , but an arm whipped out and grabbed him, and they wouldn’t stop _smiling_ and there was something wrong with their eyes…

“I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

“Martin Blackwood? Sasha James? The Archivists?”

“I’m really sorry, I don’t know who-”

“-heard there was a Tim Stoker put in with the Class Ds. Why?”

Their head snapped around to look at another personnel, who had her arms crossed and eyes covered by glasses. The glare of the florescents made it unclear where she was looking, but her demeanor indicated she was not happy.

They kept smiling.

“Class… D?”

“Expendable personnel.”

It was funny; nothing in the room actually _changed,_ except that it felt… darker, somehow. Like the shadows were creeping up on him, like the colors had all gone a bit odd, like the glass frosted over. Where they were holding him, his arm hurt.

There was a long, taut moment where none of them spoke.

“Where?” Oh, the enthusiasm in their voice hadn’t _left,_ per se, but there was an edge to it now. He was suddenly convinced that the atmosphere was somehow their fault, though there wasn’t any _real_ correlation. He held on to that feeling though. He job _was_ researching anomalies, after all.

“Do you have the clearance to even go find them if I told you?”

" ** _Yes_** " and that’s when the entire room seemed to spasm, the walls twisting in on themselves and the colors, gods, the colors…

“Who the _hell_ are you?”

It (because it no longer wore the guise of humanity like a cheap suit) _giggled_ , like a static discharge, or the interference on a hand held radio. It _hurt._

" **we aRe caLLEd MAnY thInGs** " and its face _moved_ , yes, but it wasn’t even a face anymore just the impression of one, or the impression that one _wasn’t_ there. Colors crackling and sparking like a faulty wire and shifting like a painted gemstone and in the middle of it all, the not-impression of a smile. " **tHis ONe’s faVOriTe is The Twisting or That Which Is nOt What It Is** " and another high pitched wine that sent everyone in the room to the floor. " **bUT You. May Call Us The SPiral.** "

And then it was fine. Just a smiling person, facing the woman who’s glasses were now askew, in the cafeteria of an SCP containment facility. Someone in the corner of his eye was over at one of the speakers embedded in the wall, probably calling someone down to take care of… them.

“So! Where is Tim Stoker?”

The woman who’d interrupted was breathing heavily and adjusting her glasses, so it took her a moment to answer.

“There’s… there’s a sub level, where all D Class personnel are kept…”

The tension snapped. Everyone relaxed, and they perked up, shifting their weight, and he could hear what sounded like a pop song he didn’t recognize, off in the distance. Someone’s phone, he thought.

“Thank you!” and they stepped around her and walked towards the stairwell, on the other side of the room.

He collapsed.

Staring at the ceiling, lying on his back, he hoped the team sent to stop them was able to find them soon.

* * *

_We hUm. iSnt tHAt loVely?_

_a lOVeLy lITtle tuNe…_

_they thINk tHey CAn catcH us. THEy tHInk maNY fUNNy liTtLE thIngs_

_liKe thaT tHEy are sAfe._

_:)_

* * *

“Halt!”

They spun around to face the group of men with guns. “Oh, hello! Do you like my song?”

“Come with us peacefully, and we won’t hurt you.”

“Do you know where Tim Stoker is? I heard he was on this floor. I’m not sure where though!”

The team leader’s eyes flicked across them, taking in their too wide smile and flashing eyes. The way they seemed to move even when standing perfectly still. The music that sounded like someone singing over themselves, like no language he could place. He made a decision, and stepped forward.

And everything went to shit.

The music was suddenly too loud and coming from everywhere and no where and it was in his _head_ and they were still there but not-there at the same time and he couldn’t _think_

and things and people poured out of the doorways and

_that’s not even on this floor how_ and

they _laughed_ and

the screams, Gods, the _screams_ and

everything was nothing and everywhere was _here_ and

all through it, all through it, that _song_ and their _laugh_

" **i’Ll SEe yOu uPStaIrs tHEn, shAlL i**?" and it left.

But everything else, stayed.

* * *

" **HElLo Tim Stoker** "

“What the hell is going on?” He’d just stumbled out of a doorway into the cafeteria upstairs, where the kaleidoscope Spiral was waiting. Alarms were blaring, and screams and sobs could be heard from other floors.

" **I hAVe oPeneD tHE DOoRs :)** "

“And what does _that_ mean?”

“Tim!”

“Martin?”

“How did you get up here?”

Tim opened his mouth to explain, or possibly make a cutting remark, but his teeth caught on the first word and he narrowed his eyes at the shifting colors next to him instead.

It smiled.

**:)**

“How did _you_ get out, Martin? We were in separate floors, I thought.”

“I thought so too, but when everything started going… odd, I went to call to a guard and the door just- opened! I walked through it and here I was!”

“Really.”

**_:)_ **

“That’s what happened to me, too. Except-”

“… except what?”

“There were… other people, in my- cell. They didn’t come with me.” Tim’s eyes were still narrowed at them, and by now it could be considered glaring. “What, _exactly_ , did you do?”

" **wE aRe THe TwistIng, Time Stoker. We do nOt _EXplaIn_ :)**"

Tim cursed under his breath, and Martin looked decidedly more nervous. There was no one else in the cafeteria, and the whole conversation had been crystal clear despite the all encompassing volume of the incomprehensible music.

Despite the only exit to the building being through the cafeteria, no one had come up the stairs.

“What, um…” the twisting figure seemed to cock it’s head, turn toward Martin. “What are we waiting for?”

" **:) WE, Martin Blackwood, ARe wAItiNg For tHE Jarchivist.** "

" _Jon!?_ If _that’s_ the case we can just _leave now_ , he’s probably living it up with the scientists by now-"

One of the doors across the room, creaked open, and Jon stepped through. His glasses were askew, and he looked, shaken.

" **Jarchivist! yOU hAve aRRIvEd!** "

“H-hello, ah,” he hesitated, taking a moment to push up his glasses, “the, Kaleidoscope One?”

" **Do noT cALL me ANYtHing! wE hAVe sPOKen ABouT tHIs** "

“Yes, right, sorry.”

Tim tapped his foot. “Alright, great, can we _go_ now?”

" **Not EvEN a tHAnK yOu, Tim Stoker? :)** "

_“No."_

" **:(** "

“Please, just, take us back to the archive?”

" **I cANnOt dO tHAt, Jarchivist.** "

“Wh- why not? Did something happen?”

“Oh right, all your stuff is there, isn’t it.”

" **ThE Foundation wAs thERe.** "

“… oh?”

" **tHe buILDing hAs beEN LOckEd DoWN. aND everYTHinG. confiSCAteD.** "

“Oh.”

" **So! whEre sHall we gO?** "

Jon looked around, suddenly. “Hold on, was Sasha…?”

" **nO.** "

“Ah.” He sagged with relief. “That’s something.”

It said nothing.

"Can we just _get out of here?_ " Tim threw his hands in the air. “Anywhere that isn’t here, Regents park how 'bout. Will that work?”

" **nICelY :)** " and the color static that crackled around it enveloped them, and they gasped and it seemed to melt their very being-

* * *

_a doOR is A dOOr Is a doOr_

_evEn wHEN iT is A jAr :)_

* * *

-and they were in Regents Park.

Tim stumbled away, sucking in a breath to start hurling insults, but when he turned around _“It Who Twists”_ or whatever was gone. So he started cursing instead.

“So… what now? Do we… find Elias?”

“Why would I ever want to see Elias again?”

“I don’t know! He always seems to know what to do!”

"Yeah, because he’s _running the place!"_

Jon cringed. “Look, both of you, can we just, find somewhere to go?”

They fell silent. The, Foundation, or whatever, would probably know where they lived. Would know where their friends lived. Would be looking in homeless shelters and at their bank accounts and around the Institute. They didn’t really have anywhere to go.

“Why the _fuck_ would it bother breaking us out if it doesn’t _mean_ anything?”

“They, thrive on chaos, I guess. Why would it care if we were imprisoned in the first place?”

For a moment, there was only the ambient sounds of the birds and the wind in the leaves, of people talking in the distance.

“I think… I think Basira was out of the office today?” Jon and Tim turned towards Martin. “Maybe… we could find her? She might have somewhere to go.”

They looked at each other and shrugged. “It’s a plan.”

“So I guess we go find Basira, then? Where’s she live?”

“You don’t know? I thought you knew everything about everyone.”

Tim shrugged listlessly. “Yea, well. I sorta stopped caring about that as soon as I knew nothing I did mattered.”

Jon cringed.

“I, might know it? Or,” Martin shrunk under their gazes, “I know where to start looking, anyway.”

“Are we just going to knock on everyone’s doors? ‘Oh yes, hello, is the the residence of Basira Hussain? No? Sorry to bother you. No, we’re not stalkers, we’re her coworkers.’”

“Can we just- go? Can we just go.”

“Yes, please. Lead, uh, lead the way Martin.”

* * *

.

.

.

_:)_


End file.
